Then Maggard turned to the others. "This man, Bas Rowlett," he said, "sought to marry Dorothy hisself. Ye all knows thet, yet deespite thet fact when I come hyar a stranger he befriended me, didn't ye, Bas?" "We spoke ther truth ter one another," concurred Rowlett, wondering uneasily whither the conversational trend was leading, "an' we went on bein' friends." "An' now afore ye all," Maggard glanced comprehensively about the group, "albeit hit don't need no more attestin', he's goin' ter prove his friendship fer me afresh." A pause followed, broken finally from the bed. "I kain't stand up terday--an' without standin' up I couldn't hardly be rightfully wedded--so Bas air agoin' ter support me, and holp me out thar an' hold me upright whilst I says ther words ... hain't ye, Bas?" The hardly taxed endurance of the conspirator for a moment threatened to break in failure. A hateful scowl was gathering in his eyes as he hesitated and Maggard went on suavely: "Anybody else could do hit fer me--but I've got ther feelin' thet I wants ye, Bas." "All right," came the low answer. "I'll aim ter convenience ye, Cal." He turned hastily and left the room, and bending over the bed Uncle Jase produced the marriage license. "I'll jest fill in these blank places," he announced, briskly, "with ther names of Dorothy Harper an' Cal Maggard an' then we'll be ready fer ther signatures." But at that Maggard raised an imperative hand in negation. "No," he said, shortly and categorically, "I aims ter be married by my rightful name--put hit down thar like hit is--Kenneth Parish Thornton--all of hit!" Caleb Harper bent forward with a quick gesture of expostulation. "Ef ye does thet, boy," he pleaded, "ye won't skeercely be wedded afore ther officers will come atter ye from over thar in Virginny." "Then they kin come," the voice was obdurate. "I don't aim ter give Almighty God no false name in my weddin' vows." Uncle Jase, to whom this was all an inexplicable riddle, glanced perplexedly at old Caleb and Caleb stood for the moment irresolute, then with a sigh of relief, as though for discovery of a solution, he demanded: "Did ye ever make use of yore middle name--over thar in Virginny?" "No. I reckon nobody don't skeercely know I've got one." "All right--hit belongs ter ye jist as rightfully as ther other given name. Write hit down Parish Thornton in thet paper, Jase. Thet don't give no undue holt ter yore enemies, boy, an' es fer ther last name hit's thicker then hops in these parts, anyhow." In all the numbers of the crowd that stood about the dooryard that day waiting for the wedding party to come through the door one absence was recognized and felt. "Old Jim Hewlett didn't come," murmured one observant guest, and the announcement ran in a whisper through the gathering to find an echo that trailed after it. "I reckon he didn't aim ter countenance ther matter, atter all."